Happy Christmas
by DreamingOfNothing
Summary: To Sirius, they looked like hellish demons, eyes glinting with devilish anticipation - Rated T for violence and child abuse - On Hiatus
1. Chapter 1

Sirius sat on his bed. In the dark. He was hiding, glad that he wasn't being forced to attend the party and be humiliated. Again. He was sick and tired of being humiliated.

There were people coming up the stairs. There were only two rooms up this high: Sirius' and Regulus'. Regulus had been forbidden to come upstairs until the guests were all gone, and anyway, these voices sounded at least sixteen or seventeen. Much too old to be friends of Regulus', and certainly not looking to be friends of Sirius.

Most likely they were interested in something else entirely. Sirius shifted slightly, so that he camouflaged with the grey walls better. The pounding footsteps were almost at the head of the stairs, the hammering echoing that of Sirius' own heart.

_Shut it,_ he told his quickened pulse. _You're a Gryffindor. You're not afraid of anything, especially not those gits. Especially not their most-likely overage wands and most-likely overage curse repertoire…_

_Okay, fine. I'm afraid of them. Laugh away, obnoxious inner voice._ Sirius had to actively stop his face from flushing in shame and humiliation before the jeering boys even opened his door. Straightening his back and tensing, he silently prepared for a confrontation.

He was not disappointed. The door flew open with a bang, and Lucius Malfoy sneered at him from where it had been, wand outstretched. "Having a nice holiday, Black?" Rosier and Lestrange snickered from behind him.

"Stellar. Any other scary lines you'd like to say?" Sirius's voice dripped with sarcasm. "Just so that I can know when you expect me to burst into very girly tears of absolute terror."

Lucius chucked softly, an action that was obviously intended to be threatening. "I could kill you right now and not lose a wink of sleep over it."

Sirius gave an exaggerated squeak. "Oh! I'm scared by the big blonde fly! Save me, save me, save me!" He let his face take on his own cruel sneer. "Work on the pickup lines, Malfoy." He spat out Lucius' last name with unconcealed venom.

Lucius smiled slightly, as if enjoying Sirius' defiance. He flicked his wand, humming slightly, and Sirius was frozen, unable to move against the magical barriers keeping him from launching himself at Lucius.

Lucius crouched next to the bed, touching his cheek with long, pale fingers. Sirius growled, a deep, feral noise, warning him to back off.

Apparently Lucius didn't speak growl, but he did drop his hand. Straightening, he walked back to Rosier and Lestrange, who both looked slightly confused but still threatening. Obviously they were more brawn than brain.

Lucius shut the door behind him. Blocking the light from the landing plunged the room into utter darkness. Sirius was suddenly glad that he could not move, so as to prevent him from trembling. He had a feeling that he knew what was coming, and he was not excited for it.

Three wand tips ignited, lighting their leering faces from the underside. They looked like hellish demons, eyes glinting with anticipation. Sirius growled again, this time in defiance. _You don't scare me, you don't scare me, you don't scare me-_

"Cadeo," Lucius murmured, watching in anticipation. Sirius felt his entire body tense in preparation for the pain. But it was worse when he could not move, for some reason. The fire remained bottled inside him, growing exponentially, but he kept his voice carefully locked away.

Raising his eyebrows as if in acceptance of a challenge, Lucius broke off the spell. Sirius refused to let his muscles ease, knowing that there might not be time before the next curse hit. Lucius twirled his elm wand absently between his fingers, contemplating. Finally he seemed to come to some conclusion, and flicked his wrist.

Sirius swallowed, but the pain never came. Instead, he found the spell paralyzing him had been lifted. Losing no time, he threw himself at Lucius, wanting nothing more than to tear out his internal organs one by one.

That was when the Cruciatus struck. Dropping almost in midair, Sirius bit down savagely on his lip, refusing to scream. But as one second stretched into two, and two seconds stretched into three, Sirius had to fight with every bit of energy to resist. This was no longer about the sound; it was about submission, and screaming would mean giving in.

Sirius would never, ever give in. Ever.

After a few seconds, though it had seemed an age, Lucius swung his wand down, ending the curse. Sirius tasted the coppery tang of blood in his mouth, and his lip was burning. He had collapsed, of course, and his arms were wrapped tightly around his ribcage. His breathing was suddenly very heavy and fast, almost gasping. Someone was laughing, and Sirius vaguely wondered if the room was soundproofed.

"Worthless, grovelling blood traitor." The words could not hurt Sirius anymore. He had become numbed to them, after hearing them so often.

Though his limbs screamed in protest, he pushed himself up and stood to face Lucius, ignoring the snickers of the other boys as he visibly struggled. "Who's grovelling? You seem to be the one who crawls at Voldemort's feet," he said scornfully.

Lucius hissed as he jabbed his wand into Sirius' neck, breathing into his face. "Don't say the Dark Lord's name."

"I'll say it all I want," Sirius snarled, glaring. "Voldemort, Voldemort, Voldemort, Voldemo-"

He was cut off by the sharp _swish_ of the snake-decorated wand, knocking him to the ground. The agony pulsed through him again, and his lip flowed blood freely as his teeth bit down on it harder and harder and harder. His hands clenched into fists, digging uncut nails into his palms. However, he was aware of none of this. Sirius' perception at present consisted of the pain and only the pain, fighting through to the deep place where his screams were kept. He defended it valiantly, but as three seconds turned to four and four to five and five to eleven, the curse breached his defences and he cried out, all while knowing that it wouldn't make a difference and not caring.

The curse stopped abruptly, and the pain faded to a slow ache. Sirius felt his stomach drop out with humiliation and shame as his tormentors laughed at him. "Weak," they shouted words drilling deeper and deeper into his head. "Weak, weak, weak!"

He had given in. He had surrendered, submitted. He had admitted defeat.

He was weak.

Still, he brought his shaking arms beneath him and tried to lift his suddenly unbearably heavy torso from the floor. His palms burned, and they were slick from the thick blood pouring from them. Lestrange kicked his arms out from under him and he fell heavily, staring into the now dark pink carpet.

He did not try to rise again. He rested his pounding head against the stained floor, breathing heavily. His heartbeat was rapid against his ears, and he was reminded of the ocean. Remus had a seashell that you could hear the ocean in, if you put it up to your ear. Sirius had thought that there was actually the sound of the ocean trapped inside it until Remus told him that it was just his pulse, like he was hearing now. But the surf had never been this fast.

Rosier crouched beside him, snickering. He seized a handful of black hair and yanked, jerking Sirius to a kneeling position. His head was pulled back, exposing his neck and forcing his line of sight to the ceiling. Rosier twisted, causing Sirius to release a small high pitched sound of pain. He had lost, he had already given in. The fight was gone from him, because there was nothing to fight for anymore. Just let them have their amusement and block out the memory.

Rosier hauled him to his feet. His legs downright refused to support him, so he was half hanging from Rosier's hand. His neck burned, and warm blood from his lip trickled down it.

_Just let it be over soon,_ he prayed to any deity that might be listening and care. _Let them get bored soon and go away…_

Rosier wrenched his hair again, and Sirius whimpered. Laughing, Lestrange punched his diaphragm heavily, knocking his breath out of his lungs. Gasping for air and suspended from Rosier's fist, he didn't see Lucius' knee until too late. Striking him square in the stomach, Sirius leaned forward and vomited. He was shaking violently, legs sagging and not even trying to hold his weight, not caring that his hair felt like it was going to be pulled from its follicles. Lucius and Lestrange moved hurriedly out of the way of the sick, not bothering to hold back their superior sneers.

They hit him again and again; he lost count. Each blow seemed to be coming from an increasing distance, and Sirius stopped responding. His mind was filled with a comforting white fog, and he floated peacefully in it. It was simple and uncomplicated, the fog, unlike reality. It was easier to dream in the mist than to try to deal with the current situation.

But he was rudely jolted from the soft white clouds, because he was falling. His hands were out to catch his fall, and the thin scabs tore open, staining more of the originally grey carpet pink-ish red. His head collided with the ground with a _thunk,_ and he thought he might pass out. But he didn't. Someone prodded him with their foot and laughed at his whimper. Everything felt broken. He lay motionless on the floor, nostrils filled with the mingled sour and metallic smells of blood and vomit, waiting.

There was a soft pattering of feet on the stairs. This was different than Lucius, Rosier, and Lestrange's had been; Sirius knew who it was. He could feel the vibrations of the light person as he advanced up the stairs. He tried to tell Lucius and his gang that Regulus was coming, but they were too busy laughing at his choked words.

The room fell deathly silent, evidently as the others heard the footsteps. The three boys looked at the broken body at their feet as if they had only just noticed he was there. Lestrange made to pull Sirius behind the bed, but Lucius stopped him. "It doesn't matter if he sees," he said cruelly, "he's old enough to know."

Lestrange shifted his weight uncomfortably. "He's the same age as my brother, Lucius." He swallowed, obviously trying to think of the best way to say this. "This is his brother. Even if he is a blood traitor..." He poked Sirius with the toe of his boot, obviously indicating his condition. "Rabastan - He's ten years old. I wouldn't want-"

Sirius had hardly gotten over Lestrange's apparent care for his younger brother before Lucius nodded resignedly. "Hurry, then," he said almost lazily.

Lestrange grasped Sirius' arm and roughly dragged him to the other side of his bed, shoving him half under the bed. Sirius coughed on the dust and voiced his bone's protest at being moved in the form of a long, ragged hiss. Lestrange kicked him sharply from behind. "Shut up," he whispered urgently, and Sirius was only too happy to.

He shut his eyes against the stinging dust and waited again, trying to slow his pulse and quiet his breathing. He knew that they were far too fast and heavy, but the welling panic seemed unable to calm either. _You have to be quiet,_ he reprimanded himself, _or Regulus will hear you._

Usually, it would not have taken Regulus this long to get to the top of the stairs, but he was climbing at a particularly slow pace. But now he had reached the landing, and as Sirius had feared, the little footsteps were padding toward his bedroom. The doorknob turned, rattling slightly, and the door opened with a low _swish_.

"Sirius?" called a small voice. Sirius felt his chest contract, and he tried to ignore the young voice of his brother. "Are you alright?"

The door creaked, opening a little more. He stepped into the room slightly, then stopped, presumably discovering Lucius, Rosier, and Lestrange. "What are you doing here?" His tone was polite, angry, and frightened all at once. Sirius had never before been aware that one could pull off such a combination, but Regulus did.

"Hello, Regulus," Lucius said smoothly, stepping forward. "How very nice to see you. How is the party going downstairs?" He inquired.

Regulus' voice was hard. "Why are you in my brother's room?" Sirius' stomach fluttered at Regulus' admission that he was Sirius' brother; he usually denied any connection in the presence of others.

"I really don't see how that concerns you in the least." Lucius' voice had gained an equal stoniness, and he moved further forward. "Maybe you should go back downstairs, Black."

Regulus did not seem intimidated in the least. "Where is Sirius?" His words echoed slightly in the heavy silence. Sirius swallowed and shrunk against the side of the bed, trying to make himself much smaller. "Where is he? _Where is my brother?_" He was getting angry. "_Tell me where he is!_"

Lestrange's voice was husky and low. "He's not here, Regulus." As much as Sirius hated people lying to his brother, he prayed that Regulus would believe them.

Regulus walked to the other side of the bed. "I don't believe you. I want you to tell me where-" He broke off suddenly. There was a small whimper. "What have you done to him?" He whispered. "Is he dead?"

Sirius heard one of the others curse under his breath and the small brushing sound of something being vanished. "He's fine, Regulus. Completely fine." Rosier did not sound very reassuring.

Regulus seemed to have lost a great deal of his energy. He sat on the edge of the bed, much as Sirius had earlier. Sirius could hear his shuddering breaths. "You killed him, didn't you?" His voice was thick with tears. He was crying. Crying for Sirius.

"Regulus-" Lestrange stopped mid-sentence, obviously unsure how to continue. "Your brother isn't dead." Regulus didn't respond. "Please believe me, Regulus," he said, slightly pleading.

Since when was Lestrange nice?

"Then where is he? And why-" Regulus' small voice cracked, and he kicked the bed. Sirius tried hard not to cough from the dust it stirred.

"Get out of here," Lucius said suddenly. "I said to get out!" His voice was snapping and angry.

"Lucius-" Lestrange.

"Don't argue with me, Rodolphus. Leave right now, Black."

The bed creaked from Regulus rising off of it. But instead of walking towards the door, he walked around the back of the bed, toward Sirius.

Lestrange panicked. He practically ran to Regulus, and with a small _thunk_ he pinned him against the wall.

"Let me go!" Regulus yelled, clothes rustling as he squirmed.

However, Lestrange was a good seven or eight years older, and didn't relinquish his hold. "Trust me when I tell you that you don't want to go there, Regulus."

"What are you hiding from me? _He's my brother!_" Regulus shouted.

There was a sharp _smack_ of skin on skin. Regulus cried out, twisting more in Lestrange's grip, and Sirius knew that he had to do something. Forcing his protesting limbs to move, he pulled himself off of the floor, leaning heavily on the bedspread and not caring about the blood that bloomed crimson roses on the grey fabric. "Let him alone, Lestrange," he rasped.

Lestrange whirled, staring at Sirius as though he'd never seen anything quite like him. He released Regulus, who stumbled forward. "Sirius," he said desperately, "Sirius-" He wrapped his arms around him, crying. Sirius winced, but didn't tell him to stop.

"This is so sweet," sneered Lucius. "Just so touching."

"Get out of here, Malfoy," Sirius said raggedly.

Lucius laughed mockingly. "What are you going to do if I don't, filthy blood traitor? Bleed on me?"

Sirius growled. Lestrange crossed the room and put his hand on the doorknob. "Come on, Lucius. We're done here." His voice was cold, and there was no real space for argument.

Lucius grudgingly complied. "Be sure you take a long shower to get the worthless besmirched traitor off, little Black Heir," he warned as he left, sending a last cutting hex over his shoulder before Lestrange shut the door, thrusting the Black brothers into darkness.

As soon as the door shut behind them, Sirius allowed his arms to buckle under him, as they had been begging to since he rose up onto them. He rested his sore head against the soft bed, filled with relief. Regulus watched him, and when his legs began to slither out from beneath him and he slipped, Regulus caught him, hauling his very thin body onto the bed. He was three years younger than Sirius was, but he was stronger now. Sirius tried not to move and just to calm down, to slow the heartbeat that pounded heavily in his ears.

"Sirius?" Regulus asked at last. "Are you badly hurt?"

Sirius was lying with his back to Regulus, so he had no way of seeing his expression. "I'm fine," he said tensely. "Just - just tired."

"You're bleeding." There was a note of hysteria in Regulus' voice. "You're bleeding everywhere."

"It'll be fine, Regulus. Don't worry about it." Sirius tried to keep his voice calm and reassuring. "It's not as bad as it looks, really. Get us some light, though, will you?"

Regulus did so, murmuring softly to the candlesticks and watching the wicks burst into flame. The candles had been charmed to light when special words were said, so that those in the house unable to perform magic could still light them at their leisure. After this, Regulus walked around to the other side of the bed and lay down beside Sirius, apologizing when the rocking of the mattress hurt him. He studied Sirius for a bit, lightly fingering some of the nastier cuts and bruises on his brother's face until Sirius flinched and said in a constricted voice, "Please, Regulus." He stopped, and there was a short silence as Regulus studied him more.

His steely grey eyes, just like Sirius, raked Sirius with his worried gaze. Lingering on his palms and their unusual crescent-shaped incisions, his eyes finally met Sirius'. They were guarded, unfathomable, and Sirius hated how he could not tell what his younger brother was thinking.

"Why do they do this to you, Sirius?"

The question hung in the air. Sirius didn't want to answer it, but he did. "I'm in Gryffindor, remember?" He was unable to hide the bitterness in his voice. "I'm a blood traitor."

"You're a blood traitor just because you're in Gryffindor?" Sirius caught the slightest note of alarm in his response.

"No," he said harshly, "Not for that. It helps, of course, that one of my friends is a halfblood." He clenched his hands tightly, watching the thin clotting across the knuckles crack open and blood ooze through the gaps. "And that I don't agree that muggleborns and halfbloods are any - any _less_ than we are."

Regulus' eyebrows contracted in confusion and slight horror. "You're friends with a mudblood?"

"Don't call him that!" Sirius growled.

Regulus nodded, accepting his brother's terms. "What does he look like? Can you tell mud - muggleborns from the outside?" His voice wasn't vicious, merely curious.

"They're just like purebloods," Sirius said tiredly. "There is no difference between purebloods and muggleborns, Regulus, believe me. No difference."

Regulus opened his mouth to speak, but a hard, cold voice sounded from the doorway. "I believe that you were forbidden to come upstairs until the party was over, Regulus," Walburga said coolly.

Regulus clambered quickly off of the bed. Sirius would have followed, but he was unable to move any of his limbs. "I heard noises, Mum," Regulus said respectfully, bowing his head. "Screams."

Walburga's glance flicked to Sirius for an instant, then her eyes were back on her youngest son. "You've heard the blood traitor scream before," She said casually, "It should no longer bother you."

A trace of some unidentifiable emotion flickered in Regulus' face, but by the time Sirius realized that it was there, it was gone. "He's my brother, Mum. I'm supposed to care."

Walburga's glare of absolute hate touched Sirius, and Sirius felt suddenly unclean under her loathing sneer. "That creature is no son of mine," she spat, "And no brother of yours." She pursed her lips at him. "Stand in my presence, Gryffindor filth!" She said shrilly. Not wanting to anger her further, Sirius tried to rise, he really did. Gripping the bedpost like a life preserver, he forced his screaming bones and muscles to move into a position that vaguely resembled standing, as opposed to hanging off of a post. He clenched his teeth together and forced his legs to support him, giving his mother a defiant look.

He had thought that would be the end of it, but apparently not. Her eyes continued to drill into his, and even though tears of agony were rolling down his face, he stood. He stood defiantly, stubbornly refusing to fall.

But as seconds dragged into minutes, and minutes into more minutes, and minutes into what seemed like hours, his legs wouldn't do it anymore. Despite his insistence, his knees gave way, and he sunk to the floor. Walburga walked slowly towards him. He arranged his burning legs into a kneel, and he bowed his head. _Please let her just yell tonight,_ he begged. He'd been talking to his mind an awful lot. _Please don't let her curse me again. Please, please, please._

Walburga pulled something from her robes, and Sirius' heart sank. It was her wand, after all. She raised it and was about to plunge it down, with Sirius already on his knees before her, but Regulus stepped up quickly.

"Mum, please, it isn't his fault. Lucius, Evan, and Rodolphus beat him up, badly. He's bleeding everywhere." His voice was slightly pleading. "Please have mercy, Mum. Please."

A muscle twitched in her jaw. "For you, my little king," she said, calling Regulus by his pet name, "But I find it pathetic that you're defending this filth." Lowering her wand, she spit on Sirius' face. She spun on her small pureblooded feet, grabbed Regulus roughly, and pulled him from the room. The door shut for the third time in one evening, but this time the light from Regulus' candles glowed dimly.

Sirius wiped the saliva from his cheek, seething. He hated being humiliated, he hated being degraded, especially in front of Regulus. Regulus used to worship him, but now… How could he anymore? Sirius was a nothing, a shameful bit of dirt in this Black house.

Something snapped. Sirius crawled to his trunk and dug in it for a while. Pulling a tarnished mirror from it, he looked into it. "James," he rasped.

He only had to wait a few seconds before James' face appeared in the mirror. He laughed, running a hand through his hair at the sight of Sirius. "Sirius! It's nice to talk to you." His smile faded slightly, and he said carefully, "Would you like to stay at my place for a bit?"

Sirius raised his eyebrows. "You mean it?" When James nodded, Sirius muttered, "I won't stay long, I just - need out of here for a while." He looked away, embarrassed to meet James' eyes.

"Of course, Sirius," James said quietly. "You're always welcome here, you know that." Sirius nodded, still not looking at the mirror. "Can you meet us at the park again?"

"Yes, I'll be there."

"I'll see you at seven tomorrow morning, then." James obviously decided to let it all go, until tomorrow at least.

Sirius nodded again, smiling a little more at his friend. "Thank you so much, James. You have no idea."

"What are friends for?" James asked lightly, a hint of his cocky smile on his face. "See you."

"See you, James." The messy haired, bespectacled boy vanished from the mirror, leaving only Sirius' own reflection. He didn't look at it, not really wanting to know what he looked like. But he was grinning as he shoved some clothes into a backpack and set his alarm for six-thirty.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: This is not new. I'm just breaking up the monster of a one-shot I had previously and making it now three chapters. I apologize for any inconvenience.**

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Sirius cut off the alarm almost as soon as it began ringing, rolling soundlessly out of bed. He was still very sore and bruised, but the pain of the Cruciatus had worn off, so he was in a much better position than he had been. Yet, his body protested.

He shushed it for now. He was escaping.

The room was cold in the icy pre-dawn, and Sirius shivered as he dressed. He straightened his belongings, making sure that all of his things were packed, and opened the window. A blast of frigid air rushed through the gap, and Sirius was glad for his expensive jumper. Bracing himself, he slid out into the dark morning.

Dropping from the tree, he landed with barely a whisper on the grass behind 12 Grimmauld Place. He asserted his grip on his backpack and, crossing the empty street, headed for the park which was located a few minute's walk from Grimmauld Place. He could hear his heartbeat speeding up against his will; he was so, so close. He was just about free.

Suddenly, he turned and looked back at The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. He almost expected someone to stop him from escaping, but no one came running out from the house. _They probably won't even notice that I've left,_ he thought dismally. But then, a light turned on in the one of the uppermost windows. Sirius froze, backing into the shadows of the sidewalk.

A small face appeared in the small square of light. Sirius tensed, preparing to run for it, but it was all right. It was only Regulus, waving. Hesitantly, Sirius waved back. His brother then pulled back from the window and pulled the green shades. Sirius felt a little bad, leaving Regulus like this. But Regulus would have to understand. Sirius needed out.

This thought jolted him from his reverie and he set off to the park. An anticipatory smile flickered across his face as he neared the rendezvous point. James ran toward him, stopping just short of reaching him. He was smiling lightly, welcomingly. "Hello, Sirius," he said, almost shyly.

"Hey," Sirius replied, slinging an arm over James' shoulders. James seemed slightly surprised, but that had been the point; Sirius had been trying to show James that he wasn't completely fragile. "How's it going?"

James smiled fully this time. Shrugging off Sirius' arm, he thumped him on the back, unwittingly sending lightning bolts of pain through his spine. "Great until you showed up." To his horror, Sirius exhaled very slowly and bent over, palms on his knees. "Sirius, did I hurt you?"

Sirius shook his head, coughing. The hand that he had brought up to cough into came away smeared crimson. Sirius tried to hide it, but he was very suspicious that James and Mr. Potter saw. "I'm fine, James," he said briskly. "Just - just tired. And my back is a little sore, so please don't try to bash it in again."

James looked incredibly guilty. He shuffled his feet, looking across to Sirius in a concerned way. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean-"

"I said it's fine," Sirius said, a little more roughly than he'd originally intended, shifting his light backpack on his shoulder.

There was a short silence. Mr. Potter cleared his throat. "We should probably go," he said, holding out his hands for the two boys to take. They did so, and Mr. Potter apparated them to the Potter's house.

It was a beautiful house. At first glance, the house looked much like 12 Grimmauld Place, minus the snake knocker, black paint, and general air of gloominess. But the Potter Residence was very, very different from The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, and the difference went deeper than yellow paint. The whole house just seemed… More open, somehow. Grimmauld Place was very closed and secretive; the residents of the house rarely saw the outside of it. But 6 Myrtle Boulevard was bright and sunny, like a lighthouse beacon to call its inhabitants home at the end of a long free day.

It looked more like home to Sirius than any other place, except maybe Hogwarts. James knew this, and lightly rested his hand on his shoulder. "Welcome to your home away from home, Sirius."

Sirius nodded, and entered the house. Mrs. Potter rose from her position on the sofa, putting down _Witch Weekly._ She instantly switched into motherly concern mode at the sight of Sirius, or more specifically, of Sirius' face. "Sirius, what happened?"

"I fell down the stairs," Sirius said. James shot him a sideways glance, knowing that he was only parroting Remus' excuses for his injuries after the full moon. "We have six flights, you see." Sirius knew that his pretext was unconvincing, but he could think of nothing else.

"I've never seen a staircase that fights back before," Mrs. Potter commented dryly, her tone making it quite clear what she thought of his feeble excuse. "You don't have to explain. Just let me see, alright?" She smiled gently, as one might to a frightened animal, assuring him that she wouldn't hurt him.

Sirius tried to hide his surprise. He was not her son; she had no connection to him whatsoever; she had no reason to care. But still she did. It had been so long since anyone other than the Marauders had looked at him the way she was now. He swallowed, denying the emotions that rose. He shrugged casually, as if the request was of no importance. "If it pleases you."

Mrs. Potter brightened immediately. Pulling out her wand from her robes, she waved it across his face and torso several times, murmuring incantations. Sirius felt the skin knit back together and swelling fade in numerous places. She whispered something else, tracing a small circle over each of his shoulders, and his muscles loosened and became much less sore. Glancing down at his hands after running her wand up and down his arms, she positioned her wand over the blood-encrusted arcs carved in a neat line across his palm. She was about to heal them, but Mr. Potter shook his head slightly, possibly not wanting the boys to notice. "Leave those," he said quietly.

Mrs. Potter gave him an odd look, but moved on. When she had finished, she surveyed Sirius from arm's length with a satisfied smile. "Good as new," she said kindly.

Sirius could feel his face burning with embarrassment. "Thanks," he said weakly, running his fingers over his scarred palms self-consciously.

"Your room's up here, Sirius," James said quickly, trying to change the subject. Sirius accepted readily, also ready to move on to a safer topic. Shifting his bag on his shoulders again, he followed James up the stairs while the Potters talked quietly in the kitchen.

The room was bright, painted in vivid shades of red and gold. The room seemed to be made of light; Sirius smiled slightly, mentally contrasting it to his room in Grimmauld Place. It was like comparing fire and ashes, life and death.

Sirius plunked his small bag on the deep gold carpet, grinning at James. James gave him a mischievous smirk back. "So," he said, flopping onto the bed, "Is it prank-brainstorming time?"

Sirius adopted James' smirk. "I think so, Jamesie dearest." He ducked the pillow that flew at his head. "Violence, James, violence..." Sirius shook his head in mock hopelessness. "There's nothing that can be done for the poor boy, I'm afraid. Such a shame-" He ducked again as two pillows flew at him this time. How many pillows were on his bed?

Obviously no more, as James sat up and sulked. Grinning, Sirius balanced a pillow in his hand. "Since you've been so kind as to give me all of your pillows, Mr. Potter, I think I should return some of them to you."

The resulting pillow fight was one of the wildest in their history, without Remus to interfere. Some true prank-storming discussions followed, along with a few games of exploding snap.

James had just had his third hand blow up in a row, and Sirius was enjoying having the chance to laugh at him yet again. Rubbing his singed eyebrows and scowling, James asked unexpectedly, "Why did you lie to my parents?"

Sirius, smile still on his face, looked up from the cards in surprise. "What?"

"They aren't idiots; they know that you didn't fall down the stairs-"

"And what would you suggest I tell them, then?" Sirius tried hard to keep the note of rising anger out of his voice as he looked away from James. He did not want to get angry with James.

James' face was inscrutable. The expression was strange, on James, who was always open and honest about everything. "The truth would work, you know."

Sirius dropped the Exploding Snap deck and leaned forward. Pressing his palms into his eyes, feeling the crescents on his eyelids, he muttered, "Could we _not_ have this conversation?"

"What are you hiding from me? You're my best mate. Can't you trust me?"

Sirius didn't look up. "You know that I'd trust you with my life, James." His shame and pain bubbled close to the surface, threatening to overflow.

"Then trust me with this, Sirius." James' voice was low and soft. "My dad's an Auror, he might be able to help."

Sirius leaned back onto the bed, staring numbly at the ceiling. He began without further ado, voice flat and detached. "There was another party. I was confined to my room, as per usual." Sirius laughed without emotion. "They think it's a punishment.

"Some Slytherins got bored, and decided to find the resident blood traitor. Most of them were overage, so the restriction for overage wizardry didn't apply to them. But it didn't matter, as they didn't use their wands much-" His voice faltered, and he struggled to start again. It was terrible to have to remember it all again, but he thought of James' betrayed face and kept going. He knew that James was testing him and he was determined to pass.

"They used the Cruciatus until I gave in - three times, I think. It's kind of hard to remember-" _Keep going, Sirius, just keep going._ He rolled onto his stomach, pressing his hands into his temples, trying to squeeze the pain out of his head. "Then they took the more direct approach." That was all he could say on the subject; it was all that his aching throat would allow him. Folding his arms, he buried his head in them, listening closely to his steady heartbeat. "They didn't even soundproof the room." His last sentence was choked and muffled by his arms. "Everyone could hear me." His voice cracked, and he didn't even try to stop the tears that streamed readily from his burning eyes.

At some point in the telling, James had moved to sit next to him. He moved his hand in soft, comforting circles on Sirius' back, trying to soothe his pained sobs. "It's all right," he whispered, stroking Sirius' hair, "You're here now. You're safe." Sirius did not reply. He did not feel as shamed as he thought he would, crying in front of James, because he trusted him to understand. To not lower his opinion of him when he saw Sirius' weakness.

Sirius finally regained control of himself, but he didn't move. James patted his back. "Come on, mate, we have to go to lunch soon. Let's get you cleaned up, shall we?"

Sirius nodded, pulling himself off of the bed with difficulty. All of the energy seemed to have run completely out of him, and he let James lead him without objection. He didn't protest when James took a washcloth and rubbed it over his face, trying to erase the signs of tears from his eyes.

"Your eyes are still a little red, but I think that I got the worst of it," James said finally, dropping the wet washcloth in the sink. Sirius didn't respond. His empty gaze rested on the tiles, lost in memories of his own personal demons.

Then, suddenly, James was embracing him. Caught by surprise, Sirius originally stiffened, but when he realized that it was James he relaxed. "I shouldn't have made you do that, Sirius," James said, holding his friend tightly to him. "I'm sorry."

"It's all right," Sirius said, resting his head on James' shoulder. "I needed to tell someone. I needed to let it go."

"I'm sorry, Sirius," James said, voice cracking slightly. "I can't even imagine… I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault." Neither knew how long they stood there, drawing comfort from the other's presence; it could have been an instant or an hour. But then Mrs. Potter called up the stairs for them to come down to dinner.

Sirius was the first to pull away, lifting his head from his brother's shoulder. "Let's go," he said quietly. He led the way down the staircase.


	3. Chapter 3

Dinner, overall, was wonderful. Meals at the Potters always were. There was laughter and conversation over the food, which was placed haphazardly on the table without the slightest bit of procedure. As dinner progressed, Sirius felt himself slide out of Grimmauld's hold and back into control.

He was feeling much more like himself and playing an violent game of wizard's chess with James after dinner when Mr. Potter cleared his throat. The two boy looked up from their game, smiles still on their faces. However, Sirius' vanished abruptly when he saw the object of Mr. Potter's attention. A large black owl sat perched on the windowsill, sharp and poisoned. Its sickeningly yellow eyes, so different from Remus' soft golden ones, pierced Sirius with their intense gaze. Sirius recognized Tartarus and, falling back into himself, picked himself off of the floor and looked imploringly at Mr. Potter.

"They've noticed I'm gone," he said, almost inaudibly. "They want me to come back." Only the slightest hints of fear crept into his voice. He took a step back, away from the owl that looked like it wanted nothing more than to rip Sirius into shreds.

"Don't answer it," James said suddenly, watching his father reach for the latch.

Mr. Potter looked sadly at his son. "I have to, James." Then, moving with nightmare slowness, he opened the window. Sirius wanted to tell him to stop, to tell him not to let the owl in, but it was too late. Tartarus swooped in and landed smoothly on Mr. Potter's arm. The large slitted eyes never left Sirius; if it was possible for birds to feel hate, it was in his glare. Sirius shifted his weight against the wall behind him. He hadn't forgotten when Tartarus had attacked him.

James, seeing his best friend's consternation, put a hand on his shoulder. Sirius looked at Mr. Potter, forcing himself to remain calm. Maybe they wouldn't make him go back. Maybe they would let him stay until school started again.

Yeah. Right. No.

Mr. Potter's brow furrowed as he read the letter. Finally, he finished it and looked at the two boys. "I'm sorry, Sirius." That was all he had to say. Sirius jerked his head down, letting his hair fall forward over his face so that no one would see his composure crumble. James' hand tightened, and Sirius could hear his angry voice: "You can't make him go back, Dad, you can't! He isn't safe there - they hurt him there-"

Sirius regained control of his voice for long enough to hiss, "Don't." They didn't need to know all of this - he hadn't wanted to tell James, and he really didn't want Mr. and Mrs. Potter to know how weak he was.

James continued as if Sirius had not spoken. "They've used the Unforgivables, Dad - you can't make him go back there!"

"James..." Sirius moaned, leaning heavily against the wall, "Please... Please don't..."

"No, Sirius," James said firmly. "You can't deal with this by yourself anymore. You don't have to."

Sirius lifted his head and was astonished to see that the warm hazel eyes were actually full of concern and well-meaning. This, of course, did not make it any easier, nor did it fade his anger at James. He shrugged off James' hand, moving swiftly toward the staircase before anyone could see his face. "I'm going back - I'm fine - I'm totally _fine_-"

"Sirius," Mrs. Potter began, but Sirius didn't stay to hear what she had to say. He was already going up the stairs, going to the room where his backpack was and pretending to pack. He hadn't unpacked anything, so there was nothing to pack. He just sat on the bed, smouldering.

How could James do that to him? How could he, mere hours after comforting him, embarrass him and reveal his deepest secret? Sirius punched the mattress moodily. He could hear someone coming up the stairs, and the sound alone was enough to tense him up. But this time he made no move to relax, as he would be going back to his own personal hell soon enough. He gripped his hair tightly in his fists, tugging on it. He didn't want to talk to any of the Potters right now. What was the point of leaving if he was going to go back the instant he'd recovered, the instant you'd understood what a real family does? What a real family means?

The door opened with a small creaking sound. Sirius didn't move. The someone moved next to him and sat; Sirius could feel the mattress sinking in with the weight. "Sirius," James said quietly, reaching out a hand, "Sirius..."

Sirius slapped his hand away. "What did you do that for?" His voice was hard. pointed with betrayal and hurt.

James sighed, running a hand through his hair. Sirius could hear the hair rustling. "I had to tell them, Sirius. Then they'd know why you couldn't go back."

Sirius growled, burying his face in his arms. "I can do it. I'll be fine. I'm not - You didn't - They didn't have to know I'm weak, James." His voice trembled slightly, and he fell silent.

"You're not," James said suddenly. His voice had a ring of truth. "You're not weak at all. I think that you're the strongest person I know, actually."

_He's trying to make you feel better. There's no way he actually means it. How could he?_

"Well, you're wrong," Sirius muttered under his breath. "And it didn't make a difference, did it? Did it?"

James exhaled deeply. Sirius knew that he was stressing him, but at this point he didn't care. He wanted someone to feel the same nervous tension that he was feeling, even if that someone didn't deserve it. "They already knew, Sirius. I told you they'd guess. They're good at that.

"Sirius..." He paused. "I wish - I wish that I could go instead. I don't want you to have to go through all of that again, and I know that I don't contact you as much as I should, and I - I feel spoiled, Sirius. I'm sorry that your life sucks, and I'm sorry that mine doesn't."

Sirius was suddenly struck by the absurdity of the last statement. Why should James be sorry that he didn't live like Sirius had to? He lifted his head and smiled. "Yeah, my life sucks. Ever since you stuck your messy head into it."

For a moment, James looked worried, as if he thought that Sirius might mean it, but he saw the grin and smirked, relief flooding his hazel eyes. "Well, my life sucks now. Because you're here."

Sirius looked at him for a moment, then laughed. "Real original, mate. Real original."

"Of course it was original. I am James Harolus Potter. How could I _not_ be original?"

Long pause. "Sarcasm is a foreign language to you, isn't it?"

Mrs. Potter listened to the laughter upstairs, and smiled to herself. They would be alright. He would be alright.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He was back. He was back at that bloody house.

Mr. Potter tightened his arm around Sirius' shoulders. "Are you going to be alright?" he asked, leaning down to speak into Sirius' ear. They were standing across the street from the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, and he had fallen uncharacteristically silent. They were under James' invisibility cloak, both trying to put off the moment when they would have to go to the door.

"You could stay here," Sirius said hurriedly. "You don't have to come up to it-"

Mr. Potter shook his head, whispering in Sirius' ear again. "I'm coming with you." His voice was deep and coarse, but overpoweringly paternal. It was an unfamiliar sound.

Sirius managed a small smile and shrugged off his arm, slipping out from under the invisibility cloak. "Let's go."

Mr. Potter pulled the cloak off of himself, folding it carefully and placing it in his pocket. "Ready?" he asked, holding out his hand.

Sirius nodded, hesitantly taking Mr. Potter's hand. It was rough, calloused and scarred, but it was comforting. It felt like a father's hand was supposed to feel, so much unlike his own father's perfectly groomed, white, graceful hands. Sirius clutched the hand like it was the only flotation device for a thousand miles on a stormy ocean. Taking a deep breath, Sirius stepped onto the deserted dusk.

Mr. Potter beside him the whole way, he strode to the door with much more confidence than he felt, but then he hesitated. The snake knocker mocked him. _You can't even knock on your own door. Some Gryffindor you are._

Sirius, feeling fury seethe inside him, reached up to grasp the snake right around its silver neck, but Mr. Potter had beaten him to it. The harsh _clank_ of metal on metal jolted him out of his reverie, and he hardly had time to realize that the door was open before his mother was standing before him.

She scowled, and Sirius felt his back unconsciously straighten. "So you've decided to show up at last, have you?"

Mr. Potter cleared his throat. Walburga must have been previously unaware of her presence, because her sneer vanished at speeds that Sirius had before thought impossible.

"Thank you for bringing him back," Walburga said in her best sweet voice, clamping her hand around Sirius' forearm and pulling him forward, beside her. Sirius tried to pull away, but she kept a vise-like grip on him. "He has a tendency to run off - The spells I put up obviously had no effect-"

"I'd like to speak to you for a moment, Walburga." Mr. Potter's voice was steely and calm, professional.

Walburga looked only slightly horrified to be addressed as such by a blood traitor, but she recovered quickly. "Of course," she said graciously, jerking Sirius inside and turning for a moment to hiss, "Go up to your room. You will be dealt with shortly."

Sirius nodded, waiting for her to release him. She was about to, but Mr. Potter said quickly, "Actually, I'd prefer it if Sirius were here for this."

The only sign of Walburga's annoyance was a slight tightening around her mouth as she reoriented herself. Sirius knew that he'd pay for this, especially if Mr. Potter was going to say what he thought he was going to say.

"I have reason to believe," Mr. Potter said solemnly, "that you have been mistreating your son."

Walburga's hand constricted around Sirius' arm. He winced, feeling her fingers press out bruises. Mr. Potter raised his eyebrows and looked pointedly at Walburga.

She stared back coldly, all vestiges of cordial formality gone. "I do not believe that this is any business of yours, Harolus," she said harshly. "We may do as we see fit with our own offspring, I believe. Perhaps you should focus more on your own son, rather than to meddle in matters that do not concern you." Her tone was icy and condescending, and Sirius could see Mr. Potter become more defiant.

"This is the business of the ministry," he said shortly, holding out his Auror badge for her to see. Her slight frown reflected in the shining gold. "Especially when Unforgivables are suspected."

Sirius gasped as her grip convulsed. "We have done nothing of the sort," she said, too quickly. "I am astounded at these unfounded accusations."

Mr. Potter was not fooled by this; he was on a roll. "Hold out your hands, Sirius," he ordered. When Sirius hesitated, he asked again, more firmly this time, "Sirius, hold out your hands."

Sirius didn't move. He simply looked back at Mr. Potter with a hurt glare of betrayal, and looked away. Mr. Potter sounded like his father, and he was doing nothing but getting Sirius in more trouble.

Walburga pursed her lips. "Really, Harolus, I don't understand what this is supposed to achieve-"

"Just do it, Sirius." Mr. Potter's voice was calmer now, more human. "Please."

Sirius hesitated once more, then extended his hands wordlessly. Mr. Potter took them, lifting them for Walburga to see. She let go of Sirius' arm, staring instead at the telltale crescents drawn in overlapping patterns into his palms.

"Thank you, Sirius." Mr. Potter released his wrists, and Sirius stumbled back, shoving his hands behind him. He hung his head, looking at the carpet in the entry of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. Some unidentifiable emotion was rising inside him, mixed with the shame and anger.

"I don't see what your point is, Harolus," Walburga said angrily. "If you don't leave right now, I'll get my husband," she threatened, grey eyes flashing.

Mr. Potter stood very, very still and looked her straight in the eye. "Don't pretend that you don't know what this means, because you do. And I do too." He surveyed her for a moment, face expressionless. "Azkaban would not suit you, Walburga."

Sirius' mother's face contorted with fury. "How dare you!" She shrilled. "How dare you say such a thing! I'm calling Orion if you don't leave this instant, Auror or not. We won't stand with being accused of such heinous crimes, Mr. _Potter_." She spat the last word like it was a curse.

Mr. Potter was not intimidated. "The ministry is becoming much stricter on the usage of Unforgivable Curses. I think the current position is three to four years in Azkaban for an isolated incident, however," he glanced at Sirius again, "If something bigger is suspected, it's upwards of ten to fifteen years, or perhaps a life sentence."

"Orion!" Walburga shrieked, voice much more shrill than usual. Sirius was not aware that her voice could be any higher, but he was being proved wrong.

Orion Black appeared in an instant, finely attuned to his wife. "Yes?" he said, not yet aware that formality was not needed.

"Mr. Potter, having very kindly returned Sirius to us-" Orion's loathing glare shot over to Sirius for a moment, and only a moment, before diffusing into polite blankness again, "-is accusing us of performing Unforgivable Curses on our dear son, and refusing to leave when expressly asked to."

Orion raised one eyebrow. "I think that there is an excellent way to settle this," he said, flicking his eyes to Sirius again. "Have you ever felt in danger here?" Orion asked Sirius. "Have you ever been hurt inside this house?"

But it was not a question. It was a command. Sirius wanted to say what was true, he wanted to shout, "Yes! Yes, I have!" Freedom was that close at hand. But he was silenced by the look in his father's eye. He may be detained for a while, but Sirius knew that Orion would always come back for him. And there was his mother, and Bellatrix, and her parents. He would not live to see his freedom.

It was then that he knew he was not a Gryffindor, no matter what that stupid hat said. James or Remus or possibly even Peter would have looked the man before him in the eye and said yes, they'd have said yes firmly and with all their heart, the way he wanted to, but he did not. Could not.

So he looked down, and mumbled, "No. No, sir."

Orion looked back to Mr. Potter with victory on his face. "So there we are," he said, with the utmost finality. "That ought to settle it then, Harolus, so I now request that you leave my house."

Mr. Potter was staring at Sirius with an expression that was almost disappointment. "Are you sure, Sirius?" he asked quietly, looking right at him. "Are you completely certain?"

Sirius looked back at him for a moment, but then looked away, moving back against the wall of the house.

Mr. Potter sighed and inclined his head. "I'm sorry for taking up your time here, Mr. and Mrs. Black. There seems to be nothing wrong here." He walked down the steps and across the street, where he disapparated.

Walburga waited to make sure he was gone, then she seized Sirius' arm again and pulled him into the house; Or tried to, at any rate. Sirius fought her, panicking, realizing that his last hope had just disapparated.

"Get in here," Walburga hissed through clenched jaws, "Or you'll regret it, boy."

"No!" Sirius shouted, shoving at her and kicking. "No - Let _go_ of me!"

Walburga slapped him angrily with her free hand, then grabbed his other hand and pinned him to the wall when he continued to struggle. "Orion," she said, only the slightest note of annoyance creeping into her clipped voice, "Handle this."

Sirius glared furiously at his father as Orion drew closer. Pulling out his wand, he jabbed it violently, the wooden tip grazing Sirius' face. Something heavy hit the side of his head, and Sirius almost blacked out. He was dimly aware of being dragged through the door, but he could not fight it any longer.

Once they were inside the house, his father let go of him, shoving him back against the wall. Sirius leaned on it, barely able to keep his eyes open as his mother ranted.

He ignored her until she snatched his hands. "You fool!" she shouted at Orion, indicating the incisions and scars. "How could you leave these?"

"It was to be a lesson," Orion sulked. "They're reminders."

"Well, they have to be removed!" Walburga's voice was higher and more shrill than it usually was. "The parasitic Aurors know what they mean. You must get rid of them before he goes off to school again!"

Orion, looking even angrier than before, stabbed his wand in Sirius' direction. The scars vanished, and with them, any evidence of the curses. But Sirius was hardly aware of this; he was struggling to keep the blackness from consuming his vision. Hands threw him at the stairs and ordered him to his room. Sirius was only too happy to do so, stumbling up the stairs. He scrabbled at the door for a moment, trying to turn the knob with his wildly shaking fingers. They finally closed around the brass bulb and he twisted it sharply, almost falling into the room in his fragmented state. He slammed the door, putting his back to it, sliding down, down, down the smooth wooden surface, and finally surrendering to the blackness.


End file.
